


To Himling: Part Fifteen

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [15]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 18:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21481168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: As she picks her way among the obstacles in her family's path, Dís is less alone than she thinks.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Ori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: To Himling [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429636
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. House

When fate brought Thráin to Khagal’abad, of least concern was the comfort of his weary folk. Bleak exile had shaken their trust in him; the newly-widowed King answered with a pain-hardened heart. Did they wish no more to roam? Very well; he would pen them up in the mountain itself! From its stone he would hew a mighty dwelling— impenetrable, but also inescapable! 

He named it the New Great Hall of Thráin. Forget that the old one served as a dragon’s den; here, _he_ was the dragon.

Dark as dried blood, ugly as Thráin’s own soul, the vein of granite chosen for the Great Hall wound deep and devious into the mountain’s heart. An army of stonecutters (Ori’s parents among them) hacked it out of unforgiving bedrock and chiseled scenes of battle into its walls. It impressed everyone, but welcomed no one. It cowed its guests by design.

Thorinutumnu did the exact opposite. 

From the moment Thorin and Dís placed the land-taking stone on their chosen summit, they knew what they wanted— a house filled with light, warmth, clutter, comfort, friends, family, affection. If (as Fíli often said) a guest came seeking splendor, they had two choices: travel onward to Khazad-dûm, or let Thorinutumnu soothe their woe. 

A hall can never be a home, but a house can; those who choose to stay there make it so.


	2. Called

_(How I hate this place.)_

The thought came as Dís hurried through the northwest cavern. The Spur-women had asked to see the Throne Room, that shrine to royal fury. Never mind that her child lay ill in bed, or that she herself had barely slept; a hall’s mistress must oblige its guests even if she looks like a bedraggled old crow.

In the kitchen, Fenja had cornered Dís to trade breakfast for news of Kíli. _Haya and Ori are going to sit with him,_ said Fíli, handsome in Durin blue for his meeting with the elders. _I won’t be gone long, if I can help it. _ Then he’d left for the lodge, and she for this detested hall— _the cave we were raised in,_ as Thorin used to say.

What was that other thing she and the boys called it? _The Horror_—yes, and in _iglishmêk _only, for Thráin had designed his hall to carry every whisper to his suspicious ears. Dís wondered if he was still listening.

_You old bastard,_ she whispered. _If you ever cared for us at all, come to our aid now._

In the halls everlasting, the old bastard heard her.

_Find Dwalin, my boy, _he told Thorin. _Dain’s not called Ironfoot for nothing; he drags his steps. Dwalin can be counted on. Tell him to make haste for Dís and the boys! _

_Th__ey need you, too, Father,_ said Thorin, young strong hands grasping knotted old ones. _You heard Dís; she asked for you. Why don’t you come with us?_

Thráin had never left the halls before. His sons (including Ganin, once scorned, now well-loved) had done so many times. Could he, given all his failings? Did he dare go to Dís, as cruelly as he’d wounded her?

_If you think it is meet, Thorin,_ he replied, _then I will._ On impulse, he drew his eldest son close to kiss his cheeks. He found himself doing that quite often lately, having neglected it while alive.

_You see,_ scolded his queen. _Not so hard, is it?_

_I must practice, _Thráin admitted.


	3. Understanding

Skidding around a corner, she drew up at the sight of a crowd of Spur-women blocking the torch-lit corridor. Massed together in their billows of gauze sewn with cut-crystal beads, they resembled a field of dew-spangled tulips. Feeling shabby, Dís opened her mouth to beg their pardon— and forward the bright flower-women surged.

_Oh, dear lady… how sad, how terrible… so sweet a lad, your poor boy… we prayed to Mahal…_

Gently jostling one another, they reached to stroke her, kiss her hands, encircle her in soft, perfumed arms. Thráin himself might not have shed a tear for Kíli, yet here were these gaudy strangers – _bumpkins_, Nori called them – expressing real sorrow for one they hardly knew!

_…my own brother suffered such fits… there are healing herbs in our country… however we can aid you…_

When Jera’s turn came, she kissed Dís’ cheek. Her pomade was all spices and woodsmoke; not for her the scent of things that wilt. _After?_ she whispered.

_After, _grateful Dís replied. Turning, she found herself confronted by the same canny gaze, this time set amid deep lines above fine, aristocratic cheekbones.

_I also?_ inquired Eira, Jera’s mother.

Apprehension prickled Dís’ skin, but there was no good reason to refuse.

_You also,_ she agreed.


	4. Matchmaking

_Your dear son, does morning find him well?_

Eira sauntered along the walls of Thorin’s library, slowly trailing one blue fingernail across the bindings. Highborn Baraz’abad women dip their fingertips in indigo to demonstrate their rank; ranked still higher and yet more anxious, Dís fretted that the dye might stain the book-leather.

_Kíli is better, _she offered.

_And my Jera, she has been of use to you._ Statement, not question; sung, not spoken.

_We have become very fond of her,_ Dís firmly replied. To speak so openly of _use_ struck her as cynical; she countered by emphasizing the word _fond_.

Eira smiled and adjusted her trailing, pointed oversleeves. _I am glad. She is a good girl, do you not think?_

Slumped in an armchair and miserable in her peach-pink sarafan, the topic of discussion wore the look of a prisoner unjustly brought to the dock.

_Very, very good, _said Dís.

More pacing; more book-caressing. Then, as if it were a matter of scant consequence: _Would she not make a very good wife?_

Shielded from her mother’s eyes by the high backrest, Jera seized two great fistfuls of her own hair and aped a noiseless scream.

_I am certain she will someday,_ Dís hedged. _But she is very young… _

_You were young when you birthed your two; I can tell this._ Eira made a self-deprecating bow, hand on heart. _I myself was not young. How I managed five, I cannot guess!_

Dís knew a boast in disguise when she heard it. Onward to flattery, then. Taking a quick sip of morat-mead to drive a sudden dryness from her lips, she plunged in. _I have always heard that Red Mountain Khazâd are blessed with many children, hale and strong, as yours certainly seem..._

_I thank you. But your younger son, he is not strong._ No longer did the keen black eyes rove. Now they raked Dís head to toe, assessing, accusing.

_Oh no. No, he is, but… the war… _

_…has made him not so. You need tell no tales, my lady; I understand._ Eira drifted forward, her embroidered sack-back train spreading out in her wake like the hood of a snake. To Dís, the sight held menace, but Jera – who had seen this trick played a thousand times – only sighed and sucked her teeth.

_I cry for your child, _resumed Eira, all tender compassion. She sat down on the bench and pressed her knee against Dís'. A mantle of scent, rich and unfamiliar, settled around them. _But I also think, how shall I say, he would do well with someone to help him? A little wife, perhaps?_

_Mother, stop._

_What! I only say what is plain to my eyes!_ Eira took both of Dís' hands and gave them a remonstrative shake. _A nice little wife, who helps him and his mother also, thus to make everything so easy that_ nadad _the King shall never worry. Yes?_

_My sons and I thank you for your concern. But here we leave such decisions up to the young folk._

_Y__ou let _children _choose? _

_We do. If Kíli liked Jera—_

_If? _Indigo-stained fingers moved swiftly to shield Eira’s heart from tragedy. _Kíli does not like my Jera?_

_As a sister, maybe._

_A sister!_ To Jera, triumphant: _Then it is his brother who favors you! Should you wed_ nadad, naddith _would have you for a sister then! Is it not so?_

_Mother! For pity’s sake!_

Dís let herself speak sharply now that all dice were on the table. _If my sons find wives who favor them, I will bless their union. But I will not steer them one way or another, and I will not force them to marry if Mahal wishes otherwise._

Shock, not entirely feigned, widened Eira’s eyes. _What would Mahal wish but this? Royal Durins must marry._

_Yes, I know— and produce more Durins as in old days, and on and on and on. But the loss of Azsâlul'abad smashed everything. Thorin and I had to learn trades and work hard to feed our kin. I chose my own mate, and it was a good marriage, praise Mahal. But I hope I am the last Durin pushed to decide._ Dís clasped her hands. _Ours is a free folk. Why should those who lead it not also be free?_

_As free as your brother, you mean._ A sly knowledge flickered behind Eira’s solemn expression. _He chose no woman and fathered no Heir. Perhaps your sons take after him. They look at none of our girls— except of course my Jera. Ai! Perhaps they will fight over her—_

_Don't be absurd, Mother,_ Jera cut in. She had finally unbent her spine and reached for her own cup of morat. _Fíli and Kíli would never do that. Mahal has already paved their path._

Tendrils of alarm spread through Dís’ chest.

Eira’s perfectly symmetrical brows rose. _Whatever do you mean, my pearl?_

_They’ve chosen to remain unwed. Plenty of Khazâd do._

_When they have a craft to devote themselves to._

_Or a comrade. The brothers are best friends, Mother._ A quick glance at Dís. _They want to stay together._

_Of course! In Erebor they might rule side by side. With two little wives, as is their duty—_

_Madam, your people’s friendship is dearer than mithril; it needs no marriage contract to seal it,_ Dís declared as sternly as she could without verging into rudeness. _Your children have shown us great love and loyalty, which we return. We hope that the bond we have forged with your family will remain ever strong._

_I see._ With a regretful sigh, Eira rose gracefully from the bench. _Ah, well. At least my Jera has been of use to you._

_She has taken great risks for us, as have her brothers._ Now Dís pitched all prudence aside. _They do their mother's schooling proud._

Eira stared at her hostess, then at Jera, who threw up her hands with a triumphant grin.

_Ah. Ah! _cried Eira, gazing down at her daughter with tangible pride. She tapped the tip of her nose. _Someone I know has been playing her little games! _

All pretense abruptly vanished. Mother and daughter beamed at one another; the complicity of their shared smile admitted Dís into its circle. With genuine warmth, Eira extended her hands to her hostess. _Perhaps then, dear lady, we leave things as they are._

As the library door closed, Jera made the hand-sign for apology. _Mother can press so, _she sighed.

_What did all that mean?_ pleaded Dís.

_She sees now that I’ve a calling that’s as good as marriage, maybe even better. She’ll be content._ Jera flicked another glance, this one tinged with anxiety, at Dís. _Of course she wants what all the other mothers want— husbands and wives for daughters and sons; armies of grandchildren. But the way she raised me—_

_The Baraz’abad way?_

_Yes._ Jera twisted the loose end of her sash. _The work of a noble wife is half spycraft anyway. I’m just choosing that half for my whole, more or less. I _do _take it seriously, you know,_ she burst out. _My work for you and your family. It’s important, not just to you, but also to me. I hope I will always please you._

Dís treaded delicately. _You do. You will, if… _To safeguard against any stray listener, she hand-signed the rest.

_(You understand about Fíli and Kíli.)_

With a deep-dimpled smile, Jera replied in kind.

_(Sisters never betray brothers; daughters never betray mothers.) _


End file.
